A Key Requirement, Part II

You won’t believe this – I couldn’t believe it and I don’t think he could either – but The Husband managed to lock us out of the house again. Now, to do it once is pretty silly but everyone makes mistakes like that at some point. To do it to twice, and not only that but twice in less than two months, is an act of monumental stupidity. Okay, maybe I’m being a bit harsh, but trust me, if you were there you would have been saying the same thing. Last night was the first time since the first incident that I had not asked him whether he had keys. I just assumed that I didn’t have to anymore. He’s a big boy now after all. But as soon as he shut the front door, he whipped round and manically asked, “Haveyougotyourkeys?” The tone of his voice and the terror on his face immediately told me that he wasn’t joking. Still, I asked, “No, why?”, hoping that I was mistaken, that he would laugh and say, “Well, it’s a good thing I have then!” But no laughter escaped from his gaping mouth. He said nothing but held up a set of keys under the dim glow of the outside lamp – they were his work keys and not the house key with the distinctive pink key ring.

Before I continue, I need to clarify something. I can imagine that you may be thinking, hang on a minute, why is it all his fault, why did you not have your keys? Well, I have an answer for that, as I did for him when he said the same thing to me. I prepare our water bottles, I get our towels and our money and the anti-bug spray ready. His only responsibility when we go to Bootcamp is to bring the house and car keys as he has a little bag in which he puts them. He knows that I will not bring my keys; he knows that he needs to bring his.

We were dressed in our fitness gear, ready to go to Bootcamp, but clearly that would not be happening anymore. I was so angry that I said just a few choice words to let him know how I felt, then told him that I was going for a run and that I expected the house to be open when I returned. Well, I have never run so fast or so far without stopping as I did last night. I tell you what, rage makes for an excellent work-out! And I did feel much better, and much calmer, when I returned. Instead of taking it out on him (which might have felt good but would have got us nowhere), I pounded it out on the pavement. Neither The Husband, nor the car, was there when I ran breathlessly back up the driveway, so I assumed he had gone to use someone’s phone or ask for someone’s help. I decided to do some resistance exercises out the back so I walked round the side of the house and across the darkened garden, stomping my feet and making as much noise as possible to scare off any snakes that might be lurking in the grass. I continued my work-out on the veranda, softly lit by the moon and a light that had been left on in the hallway, and was very proud of myself for only getting scared once or twice when a gust of wind shook the fence and sent the branches of the trees tapping at the roof of the house. I had come a long way since the first ‘incident’.

I was doing some sit-ups when I saw, through the glass patio doors, a figure rush through into the bedroom. I scrambled to my feet, heart thumping in my chest and banged on the door, hoping to scare away the intruder. When the body emerged from the bedroom door, however, it turned out to be The Husband, who had been let in by a woman from work who possessed spare keys to all the company houses. The Husband had interrupted her in the middle of a barbecue, from where she had to drive all the way back to the office to pick up the key and then drive all the way back to open the door for a very sheepish and apologetic man.
He assures me that he has learnt his lesson now but then you would have thought that he might have done so after the first lock-out. Hopefully, the memory of his embarrassment at making a total stranger leave her dinner to fetch him a key will prevent him from ever leaving the house without the correct keys again. We shall see.